In the morning, Cartimandua stood in the scriptorium with her guards. Outside her human slaves waited. To Cartimandua’s pleasure, this morning the scriptorium was occupied with nuns amongst the males. The women were curious beings and all humans. The witch nun was silent with fury. The abbot was eyeing the nun nervously. It seemed that she was the one truly in charge here. This greatly pleased Cartimandua. 

On each desk was a manuscript illuminated by Æthelwine. Like his obscene drawings, the line work here was delicate, elaborate, and undeniably beautiful. The figures were bright with colour and gold leaf. The architecture in the drawings perfectly conveyed the idea of grand stately buildings. The angelic wings were drawn with beloved care and clearly thought out and researched imagery. Cartimandua couldn’t help but wonder if her son had studied birds to ensure he drew the anatomy of the wings correctly. The intricate line work of connecting knots, dots, and animal figures were Celtic in influence. 

Unfortunately, they were all Christian. 

Cartimandua was furious.

She turned to the abbot. “Has he painted anything else?”

“Yes, your grace,” He said, “The murals and reliquaries in the church.”

“Show me.”

Her fury grew and boiled when they stood inside the church. The witch nun eyed her with a neutral expression. The abbot eyed the nun. Cartimandua pointed at the murals.

“Did he paint all of these?”

“Yes, your grace.” 

The murals were similarly Christian. Above the altar was a portrait of the monastery’s Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ (as her son so eloquently described him) surrounded by angels. It was vibrantly colourful and gold. The Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ resembled the monk who had chaperoned the abbot last night, but was considerably fatter. Human haloed men stood below her son’s god. More angels with many wings stood on the side. Then there were murals on the other walls: the god blessing a weeping woman who looked like one of the nuns in the scriptorium, a crucifixion, figures Cartimandua guessed were saints, and stars on the ceiling. Not one single elf or symbol of Woden. 

One wall was completely white. 

“Why didn’t he paint that one?”  Cartimandua asked. 

“He did. We are redoing the mural there.” The abbot said. 

“What was wrong with it?”

“Nothing. I decided we needed a change. He will paint the Annunciation there eventually.” 

“What was it before?”

“Here is our reliquary, carved and painted by Brother Æthelwine,” the abbot gestured to a side chapel. “Our newest relic is the right hand of Saint Cellanus of Jorvik.”

His change of subject annoyed Cartimandua, however, before she had time to dwell on that, she became distracted by the reliquary. It was made of wood with a glass window. The hand inside was remarkably well preserved. In fact, it looked much too fresh for someone who had been dead for over ten years now. The wrist was wrapped in gold embroidered silk to hide the bone and meat. Cartimandua squinted. 

“Is that a nail in the hand?”

“We were also able to get the nail Saint Cellanus was crucified with,” The abbot sounded very pleased with himself. 

“How do you know it's the actual nail?” 

“Your son painted the reliquary,” The abbot said quickly. “It portrays Saint Cellanus’s martyrdom.”

“How do you know it’s the actual nail?” Cartimandua repeated. 

“...We bought it off his sister.” 

Cartimandua couldn’t tell if the abbot was lying or not. That annoyed her. 

“Why would she sell that to you? Why in Woden’s name would she even keep it?”

The abbot shrugged. 

Cartimandua wanted to call bullshit on the story, but she was distracted by the paintings on the reliquary. They depicted the saint’s martyrdom (he had been bashed in the head after supposedly preaching at a brothel) as well as a few scenes from his life, including his visit to Rome, Felix’s revenge at the Abbey of Saint Gall, his burning of Mamecaster, preaching to whores, and his spiritual castration. Cartimandua may not like Christianity, but when one’s neighbours are fauns and your subjects occasionally visit Jorvik, it was impossible not to hear about Cellanus’s life. 

Cartimandua was honestly surprised no one had succeeded in killing the man sooner. 

“Why don’t you have any relics of his little faun companion?” She asked.

“Saint Felix is still alive.”

Cartimandua grunted. Then she saw the perfect opportunity to further antagonize him. “That’s no excuse.”

To her dismay the abbot did not take the bait.

“Your son also painted the murals in this chapel.” He gestured to the stone walls, also covered in Christian imagery. 

Cartimandua’s fury got the better of her. 

“It’s all Christian! Has he painted nothing dedicated to Woden? To his elven people?!”

The abbot took a few steps back. “This is a monastery dedicated to God.” 

“Oh, fuck you!” 

Cartimandua’s guards exchanged glances. One coughed. A few of her human slaves crossed themselves. She swallowed the saliva she was going to spit at his feet. The abbot looked unamused. 

“Your grace,” he said, “This is a Christian monastery dedicated to humanity’s God. I am not sure why you would think I would permit Brother Æthelwine to paint pagan symbols on our Christian place of worship.”

“You let him draw erotic imagery.” 

“That should not have occurred and he will be punished for it appropriately.” 

Cartimandua tsked. “What kind of monastery are you running?”

“One where I trust my flock to behave themselves and then punish them appropriately when they don’t.”

“So you're going to punish my son for expressing his creativity?” 

At this point, Cartimandua was so furious she just wanted to have an excuse to get into a fight….even if it was at the expense of her dignity and sense. The abbot just stared at her. 

“Well?”

The abbot blinked, clearly thinking about whether or not he truly wanted the money for the pigment. 

“I will punish him for stealing vellum and drawing lewd things about one of his fellow monks,” the abbot said. 

“Why hasn’t he been allowed to paint a single elf?”

“Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, the saints, and angels are not elves.”

Cartimandua desperately wanted to slap him. So she did. The witch nun took a step forward and the abbot cradled his cheek. 

“I should give you elfshot,” Cartimandua hissed. 

“Maud, no,” The abbot muttered. “Please.”

The witch nun didn’t step away, but didn’t come any closer either. Her stare was sinister. Cartimandua wondered which demon she had made a pact with and why she was allowed to be a nun when she was clearly still in league with the infernal population. 

“What I’ve seen has disappointed me,” Cartimandua said, her voice low and tranquil with barely repressed wrath. “You will get no money from me.”

She turned and strode out of the church, commanding her entourage to ready their things and prepare the horses. They would be leaving immediately. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The description of the reliquary isn’t historically accurate but oh well. I wanted it to have glass for reasons you shall soon see. Also spoilers for volumes of The Completely Unerotic Adventures of Brother Cellanus (which can be found on AO3, but will post here eventually!) that I’ve not actually written yet. (As of June 2025.)